One Last Wish
by Macs
Summary: Dastan never told Tamina about their time on the run together, and as time goes he wonders if he can ever find the answer to the question that haunts his every moment. 'Did I do the right thing'
1. Chapter 1

**Right, this is the first thing I've posted in a while. I'd say be gentle but hey, what does that achieve? Be brutally honest, and say what you think!**

_One Last Wish_

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Dastan sat under a plain orange umbrella, a clay cup resting in his hand. To his right, Sheik Amar laughed into his drink.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were some kind of holy man," he said, raising his hand to a few passing high rollers. "I'm not much of the praying sort, and even less of the paying sort, but you walked right out of a request to God you did." The women on the arms of the men winked at the turbaned Sheik, their ostrich feather costumes much more plush and adorned now that a few ostrich races had been transformed into a gambling empire; with many dice games, acrobatic shows and tournaments. Best of all, at least in Sheik Amar's mind, was that through Dastan his business has found a patron and someone who helped him expand, tax free of course. When the Prince of Persia first showed up unannounced in the Valley of the Slaves, Sheik Amar had been certain he was ruined, and to this day, these many years later he could not be sure why the Prince had helped him. When they'd once touched upon the subject, all he'd gotten from Dastan was a strange sort of smile and few words of nonsense._ "I was looking for an old friend I owed a favour too. I think I've repaid him now, so I'm just enjoying the scenery_." Was what he'd said.

"I guess I'm lucky that you do know me better, because I've got doubt you'd sell me for a camel if you thought I was worth something to someone."

Dastan looked fondly at his surroundings. His face was weathered from years of desert travel, the lines in his skin pronounced and his hands calloused to the point he'd had to start cutting the dead skin from them. Grey hairs tinted his hair and beard and his blue eyes were sallow. The buildings around him fared much better against the passing of time than he had. He glanced at the empty space over Sheik Amar's shoulder. It had been three years since the Ngbaka warrior had passed away, his wife and daughter choosing to stay in the Sheik's household, but never stepping foot on the racetracks and games rooms that Seso had kept a watchful eye over.

"What? I wouldn't dream of it! How could I possibly trade the noble Dastan, my best friend and my best customer for one camel?" the sheik replied, a calculating glint in his eye. "I'd sell you for two."

Dastan shook his head, unable to keep a smile of his face whilst Sheik Amar roared with laughter at his own wit. If there was one thing he could count on when he came here it was that he'd have enough of a good time to forget the first memories he'd made there.

At the age of forty seven Dastan hardly felt old, but the stresses and strains of his life had taken their toll on him. Old scars still gave him grief, friends were starting to lose their battles against ill health and his father had made his final journey to Avrat to rest there forever more. Bis was still a strong man, ever at his side as a friend and a councillor, but he saw his brothers little because of their duties. Tus was the wise and mighty ruler of the Persian Empire and he was beloved as a leader, Garsiv was beside him as his advisor, although in Dastan's experience Garsiv wasn't exactly one to give the best advice, as much as he meant well. He'd never forget the time Garsiv had told him the best way to win a woman's heart was to compliment her breasts. He still carried the scars from that particular incident, one above his heart and the other down his side. He absently wondered quite how it was Tus managed.

The loud creak of the ostrich cages opening for the next race broke him from his thoughts. He could hear the crowd cheering, and the sheik stood up, waving his hand wildly and cheering on his favourite bird. Dastan didn't stand, because he hadn't put any money on that particular race. He just took in the atmosphere and felt the old memories swamp him. This place was one of the few places that gave him a sense of peace, for all of its madness. It was one of the few places that felt the same after his long journey and the leap back in time which had followed. Here, he felt like he'd made a difference and that someone was happy because he'd succeeded. He sighed, thinking of Alamut; his palace and his prison, his home and his poison. Alamut did not feel the same. Alamut did not feel anything to him except a nightmare of a cage.

"Go go go! Come on!" Sheik Amar shouted from the edge of the box high above the crowds. "That's it!"

"I'll never understand why you get so involved when you've already set the results." Dastan said, taking a sip from his cup and wincing at the sour taste. With a subtle flick of the wrist, he deposited the last of the bad wine over the side of the box.

"It's all part of the show, see? If the guy who organised it doesn't look like he knows who'll win, no one thinks it's a fix. More people bet on an honest race, I get my fair share, everybody wins." Sheik Amar told him, not even bothering to turn around. "S'good business."

"If you say so." Dastan said. He was starting to feel hot, even in the shade, so he decided it was time to leave. "I'll make sure never to place a bet unless you say so. That's good for my wallet."

The ride back to the palace was dull and Dastan had no patience for it. Riding through the desert was fine. He'd travelled that road more times than he'd travelled to Avrat, or any of the Persian cities that lay just outside the edges of every Alamutian map.

Riding through the city, escorted or not, always left him feeling uncomfortable. He was never able to decide what troubled him more, the awe filled stares of the people who remembered the stories of how Dastan had won the city through war and returned it peacefully in the same day; or the hate filled stares of those who regarded him as a traitor, a cruel Persian warrior who had taken the city by force and taken their Princess by politics. He'd never forgotten the look on Tamina's face when they'd announced the joyous birth of their only child and had heard the disproving roars of the crowd, one of whom had the audacity to declare the royal blood was now tainted beyond all salvation.

Princess Tamina. She was now queen of her city, ruling justly and wisely, beloved by all who laid eyes upon her. The long years didn't mar her features at all, as her time inside the palace gave her the lifestyle needed to grow old so gracefully. Prince Dastan, for he was an eternal prince, never the king, knew that if he wanted to he could have stared at her for hours. He rarely got the chance to, for aside from their bedchamber and meals Tamina refused to let him have access to her, instead busying herself with councils, planning events and teaching her daughter the ways of the dagger, and the utmost importance of its protection.

Dastan rode through the palace gate, dismounting his horse and handing it over to one of the stable boys. As ever, Bis was waiting for him inside the doors of the palace when he returned.

"How much did you lose this time?" he asked Dastan with a grin.

"I tried to bet the captain of the guard, but apparently he wasn't worth the water to needed for the camel to get him there."

"Why do I have a dreadful feeling that when this Sheik of yours comes to collect his winnings, he'll end up sitting on Alamut's throne?" Bis asked, the spark of humour never leaving his eyes. Dastan laughed.

"You should never be afraid of that Bis. He'd have to fight Tamina for the throne, and after two minutes alone in a room with her, even the warlord Kosh would walk out empty handed."

"There's not a doubt in my mind."

That night, Dastan waited in his chambers for Tamina to make her appearance. He rubbed at his chest absentmindedly, he thought about how the many years of his life had passed by and left him as he was.

He'd never told Tamina about their time together protecting the dagger. It had crossed his mind many time to say something to her, but he'd never found the time or the place to tell her, and the years had hardened her heart into a wall of stone which he had no hope of ever breaching. There were no secret gates, no defences he could get around, no way to outwit a sentry and sneak by. She'd completely cut herself off from him.

Years before, when they were engaged, he'd bantered with her, returned her sharp barbs with as much wit and gentle mockery as her venom would let him, but unlike before she had never let her guard down. Without the shared experiences of hardship and the many times they needed to rely on each other to survive, there was no way to win over her animosity and prove himself to her.

He'd spent years trying to accept the hard fact that Tamina simply hadn't needed him, and because she'd never needed him, he was unnecessary, a man she was bound to but had no use for, and she resented him for it.

No, that was wrong. She had found a use for him once. Running a hand through his greying hair, Dastan remember the joy he'd felt when she'd come to him in a passion, pulling him towards the bed chamber with a look in her eyes that had nearly given him a heart attack. It happened night after night for three months and then she disappeared for two days. It was only when he overheard two gossiping courtiers that he learned she was pregnant. Nine months after that, and barely nine words spoken between them, Tamina went into labour and banished Dastan from their chambers. Three days later she emerged, tired but satisfied, cradling their baby girl.

"This is my daughter, Farah." She had said softly. Dastan approached her and touched her shoulder, surprised when she didn't flinch away. Looking down at the sleeping baby he knew he was in love. Farah was perfect.

"She's beautiful," he said, reaching down and placed his hand in hers. Her tiny fingers tightened weakly around the tip of his finger and he could barely breathe. Tamina looked up at him as though he were a stranger.

"Would you like to hold her?" She said. Dastan looked at her hard. Her pupils were dilated and breathing was relaxed. He realised that she must have taken something, either to calm herself down or to get rid of the pain, but either way, she was not acting like herself. Swallowing the hopeless despair that even as the father of her child, she could not find it in herself to love him; he said that he would love to hold her.

"Hello Farah," he said, rocking her gently when she started to squirm, her tiny limbs clumsily clawing the air as she scrunched up her face in her sleep. "I'm your father," he could feel his hands shaking slightly. Facing down hordes of warriors, scaling walls and leaping death defying heights didn't make him at all nervous, but holding this little bundle of a person was taking all his concentration. "Hello," he said again. He could think of no other words to say to her. She squirmed a little harder and without a word Tamina took her from his arms.

"Your arms are more used to holding a sword then a child, Persian," she said coldly. Her frown softened as she gazed down at Farah, "But you've given me a baby girl. At least you can do one thing right."

It was at that moment that Tamina appeared, her slim body slipping through the moonlight like a shadow and tearing Dastan from his memories. She settled on the edge of the bed, her smooth, tanned back to Dastan.

"Did you have an industrious day?" he asked, the faintest hint of humour colouring his words. She didn't turn, speak to him or acknowledge him in any way. Sighing wearily, he slipped under the silk sheets and rested his head on a well muscled arm.

Another day passed without them exchanging a word.

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**Right, there's chapter one, please do tell me what you think!**

**Macs**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we go again, the second chapter is here. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, your comments were very well appreciated and very well received. **

_One Last wish - Chapter Two_

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The next evening Farah was waiting for him in the courtyard, sitting daintily by the fountain. At twenty years old, her face was a perfect replica of Tamina, from her full lips, brown eyes and even to her delicate freckles. There was hardly a thing to mark her as the daughter of the Prince of Persia and Dastan was sometimes silently grateful for this. Her people would accept her much more easily this way. Her sombre expression vanished when she caught sight of him.

"Father!" she said, discarding her ladylike poise and throwing herself into his waiting arms. He smiled as she squeezed him tightly and drew away. "How was the valley?"

Farah was young, vivacious and full of the spirit of adventure he himself had once possessed. Much like Tamina, to look upon her face was to love her, and Dastan treasured her above all else in the world.

"The same as always," Dastan sat on the fountains edge, watching the ripples in the water distort his reflection. "The races are still fixed, the women are still vile and the Sheik is still as much of a rogue as I remember." To his delight Farah giggled daintily.

"Did you take part in any of the tournaments this time?"

"No, I just needed to relax. Besides, I think I nearly threw my back out last time I took part," Dastan rubbed the base of his spine. "When you get to my age, acrobatics just aren't as easy as they used to be."

"You'll keep doing them until you cripple yourself; it's the only way you'll learn." Farah said fondly. Her smile faded as she took in his weary appearance. For someone who'd taken a trip to get some rest and relaxation, he still looked exhausted. "How are you?" she sat beside him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Dastan placed his rough palm over her delicate fingers and smiled.

"I'm as well as I ever am,"

"Then you are still wishing for a world that never was?"

"Yes," She watched him gravely as he ran a hand over his face, the years of his life weighing on him like a lead weight.

"You are the noblest fool Father," she chastised, "but I think I'm starting to figure out why."

"What happened?"

"I used the Dagger today," she said it so quietly he barely heard her. "It was- It was incredible. I felt so powerful," Dastan looked around, but they were safe and alone. The secret that he knew of the Dagger's power was one kept between themselves, even Bis had no idea. It had come out on Farah's tenth birthday, when she was taken from her chamber to begin her formal training in the royal ways, or rather, her training in the guardianship of the Dagger of Time. Dastan had been banished from her presence then and so he'd broken into her room to see her; only to find her in the process of breaking out, a few of her possessions tied in a pathetic bundle. In tears she'd shown him the ritual cuts on the palms of each of her hands and Dastan had guessed the rest. He'd spent the remainder of the night with her, sat by her bedside telling her grand stories of his own childhood and responsibilities, finally ending with his own journey with the Dagger.

Farah could barely look at Dastan now, shame staining her beautiful face.

"Does your mother know?"

"Yes, she was the one who commanded me to use it."

"What? Why?"

"So I knew how it felt, and so that I knew how badly others would want it, because that's how badly I would want it," Farah slapped her hand against the cool stone of the fountain in frustration. "But I don't understand! Yes I felt powerful, yes I felt good, but I don't want to own the dagger, I don't need to turn back time. I keep turning her words over and over in my head- I think can only think that she's the one who wants the Dagger."

"She wishes she could change time."

"Yes, and not just a minute."

They both knew what that meant. Much like Nizam had tried to turn back time, not save his brother and become king, Tamina would turn back time and most likely- Dastan didn't know what she would do. The implication was clear enough though. Tamina hated him so much she had to fight not to forsake her vows, push the Dagger into the sand glass and destroy them all.

If she really felt she had the choice, had Farah never been born, she would rather let the world die than be with him. Dastan's heart broke a little more at realising that.

"You know, you could leave Alamut." Farah began. Dastan shook his head. It was a speech he'd heard before, a plea for him to return to Persia because it was what he needed, that there was nothing in Alamut to keep him and his brothers would welcome him back to their palaces with open arms and smiling faces. Bis would go with him in an instant if he even implied he wanted to leave. He'd always told her that it wasn't worth him going, even though he would knew never win Tamina's heart. He had someone else to stay for. Today, she tried a new tactic.

"I'd go with you." He had to stamp down hard on the hope that flared inside of him. How many times had he considered taking her with him? How much had he longed for her to say what she'd just said?

"I know you would,"

"Then why can't we go? What's stopping us from packing up, leaving right now and never looking back?"

"You know what,"

"An old promise," Farah said, rising to her feet and stalking away from the fountain, "to a woman who never existed apart from in your memories."

"It's more than a promise. It's one of the few times you can say 'the world rests on your shoulders' and not be overreacting. It's a curse and it's one that I'm always going to try and be there to help you bear," Dastan slipped a hand in the water of the fountain and watched the ripples lapping against the walls, then he swiped his damp hand over his hot forehead.

"I hate this,"

"It's not as bad as it could be." Dastan reasoned, "At least there are no Hassansins bent on your death,"

Farah whirled around, her brown eyes red rimmed.

"No!" she yelled, taking a few moments to compose herself. "No, it's worse. Hassansins you could see, you could feel their knives and darts and poison. Staying here is like poison father, and it's killing both of us. If I could turn back time, I'd go back to the day before my tenth birthday and I'd have you take me away, so mother could find another guardian and we'd be free of all this."

"Farah, I know it's hard, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices,"

"Yes, sometimes you do, but not now. What good has any of this done you? You spend your days wandering the palace, practising sword fighting and scaling walls, or you go to the Valley of the Slaves. There's no great sacrifice, no noble deeds, there isn't some greater good that comes out of this! You're barely living, and it kills me to see you like that."

Dastan couldn't answer her. Even though she knew about the dagger and was fully aware of the responsibilities they both had, there was no way to make her appreciate the love her still held for Tamina, even in the face of her constant rejection. There was no way to explain that when you see people you love die, when you watch them fall like dominoes and can do nothing to stop it, even when you are trying with every fibre of your being just to keep hold of her hand, it leaves a mark like a gaping wound.

There wasn't any way he could make her understand him.

She ran away from the fountain with tears in her eyes and Dastan was left rubbing his chest and wondering why the people he loved most always seemed the most determined to hurt him.

Three days after their talk at the fountain, Dastan was swinging his sword though the air, sweat dripping from every pore as he sparred with Bis. His lithe body was only a little slower than it had been when he was twenty years younger, since many of the long days of his life were used to keep himself in shape.

"Your daughter has been talking to me," Bis said, dodging a strong downward swing. With a quick parry he stopped himself being boxed into the corner of the courtyard. Dastan swept his sword low, trying to knock Bis off his feet and had to roll to his left to dodge Bis' counterattack.

"Do you think I- I need to be worried?" Dastan joked. He blocked a series of forward thrusts and swung around the fountain in the centre of the square, "I trust she didn't come to any harm,"

They both laughed, dropping their guards for a brief moment. Neither of them was under the impression anything bad might happen to Farah in Bis' presence, firstly because Farah was as much a daughter to him as she was to Dastan and secondly because Dastan was fairly sure she'd be able to beat Bis in a fight. _She may have her mother's looks_, Dastan recalled Bis saying once, _but she's got her father's arms._ A few moments after that Farah had sprung from the ceiling onto Bis' back and he considered that proof enough that he was right.

Dastan found himself knocked from his thoughts by a savage attack, a long cutting upward stroke followed by a quick short plunge to his side.

"She's been saying how she'd love to take another tour of your brother's palaces and see her cousins again. It has been years Dastan," Bis reasoned. Their swords swung through the air and met in a loud clang.

"I thought she'd try and get you in on her scheme sooner than this," Dastan leant back, avoiding a long cutting stroke.

"Scheme?" Bis said innocently, breathing hard. "You know me better than that my dear Prince, I would never stoop so low as to try and trick you," He ducked a high sword stroke.

"I'm guessing the time you tried to convince me that shaving Tus' head in his sleep was a good idea doesn't count?" once more than sound of swords clashing filled the courtyard.

"Of course it doesn't! How can you say that it counts if you didn't believe me? Now, convincing you to that a donkey was better mount than a horse I take all the credit for."

"Brilliant, I'd forgotten about that." Grabbing hold of a low hanging beam Dastan swung over Bis head and landed behind him, tapping him across the shoulders. Bis whipped around.

"I told you I'd never let you live it down." Sword raised, he swung at Dastan again.

"Anyway, who is to say she didn't get me in on it earlier? I might have been trying to subliminally change your mind for years now," parrying a sword thrust aimed at his abdomen, Dastan grinned.

"The day you manage to do anything subliminal will be the day that the Persian Empire falls. Considering you struggle with even the most basic of subtleties I think I'm safe,"

"She has a point and you know it." Bis countered, ignoring the jab. "You don't have to stay here. Tamina doesn't love you and I don't see how she ever will. You don't spend much time around her servants, but I get to hear my fair share of gossip as the lowly Captain of the Guard." Bis knocked Dastan's sword wide. "She still doesn't see you as anything but a barbarian. She has despised you from the day you waltzed into her life and took her city away from her."

"I never did that," Dastan retorted, jumping back from Bis' wild swing, "I'm just a figurehead, a symbol of the alliance between Persia and Alamut. I've never had any power over her or her decisions."

"You've had more power then you've realised." Bis replied. Jumping away from Dastan he held his sword ready for the next attack. "Whenever she's made a decision concerning her people she's always had to factor in how Persia will react, if it will damage her standing with the rest of Persia's allies. She's had to provide a regiment of Alamutian soldiers for the Persian army to command as a sign of compliance with the Persian values and you know how much she hates violence. If Persian soldiers are in the area and require supplies, Alamut is required to give them help. To her you are the ultimate symbol of how much she's had to sacrifice to a power she despises."

"Are you trying to shock me?" Dastan turned his back on Bis, scuffing his shoes into the dirt. "You think I don't know why she looks at me the way she does? I've never had any way of showing her that I'm different. She wouldn't exactly believe me if I walked up to her and said, I may be a Persia Prince, but I am not a Prince of Persia. I stopped thinking of Persia first the day we married."

"Then why are you still here? Farah will go with you to Persia, she's told me that much. You always said she was your reason to stay, so why won't you even consider leaving?" Bis lowered his sword and stood beside Dastan. "I don't understand you."

"I know." With that Dastan whipped around and tapped Bis on the arm with his sword.

"So much for a moment between friends," Bis said, rolling his eyes and holding his sword ready again. Dastan smirked.

"You shouldn't let your guard down when you're sparring."

The sound of shrieking metal hung in the air for over an hour before Dastan even considered stopping.

Dodging a high swing from Bis' sword and hurling himself across one of the walls of the courtyard to avoid a low sweeping blow, he felt a sudden pain in his side. He shook himself off, thinking it was just an old scar aching. Bis was concentrating on disarming Dastan and barely noticed his partner flinch and give a grunt of pain. After a few more swings the pain returned and Dastan dropped his sword, clutching his ribs.

"Oh come on, I never even touched you," Bis joked, throwing his own sword into the corner and holding out an arm to Dastan.

"I don't think it was you," Dastan ground through his teeth, leaning heavily against the wall he'd been running on a few moments ago.

"Or maybe you don't give me enough credit," Bis was close enough to him to catch his shoulders when he fell to his knees, his face screwed up in agony.

"Either- either you are the mightiest warrior I have- have ever known- or I-"

"Don't speak," Bis said, lowering Dastan until he was sat back against one of the walls. "I'll fetch a doctor, or a shaman, or whatever medical marvels they have in this kingdom." Dastan barely nodded before the pain blinded him and he slipped out of time.

When Dastan next opened his eyes he wasn't outside and it wasn't noon. The airy canopy of his bed swayed in the light evening breeze, the golden light of sunset spilling over the silk sheets and his pale sweat soaked skin. His breathing was slow and steady, but his heart pounded painfully in his chest as though he'd just fought a great battle and won. It startled him to think that a battle with his body was one that he might lose sooner rather than later.

"Father?"

Farah's voice felt like it was coming from miles away. He sluggishly tilted his head towards her and saw her watching him like a hawk. He smiled weakly and relaxed into the familiar pillows.

"I'll bet that was a fun few hours." He said.

"It was a fun few days." Farah shot back, and as Dastan's vision cleared he saw the bags under her eyes. Her shoulders were slouched and he didn't doubt that she'd have fallen asleep by his bedside had he not woken up. "The healers have been tending to you, but when I ask them what's wrong they just say that it's an internal malady. I wish I could tell you more, but there's no more to tell."

"What happened? I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Well, Bis brought you in; he was practically carrying you and shouting for help. He said you just fell, clutching your chest. The healers brought you here. I came as soon as I heard, and even mother visited you once." She watched her father's eyes light up. She didn't say that her Tamina had taken one look at him, told him that perhaps the great Lion of Persia wasn't so mighty after all and then left him, sweating and shaking and alone.

"Seems like everyone's gotten everyone excited over nothing,"

"I wouldn't call it nothing-"

"It'll pass," Dastan said firmly. Farah was silent; biting her lip to stop from giving some retort Dastan knew was begging to come out. "Hey, come on, you know how this happens," he told her, "I'll get myself hurt somehow, you come and scold me, and then I'm fine. That's how this works."

"I'm not your mother!" She got up quickly and turned away. Dastan heard a faint sniffling and realised she was crying.

"Farah, it's alright. I'm alright now." He wished he could get up and go to her, brush away her tears and kiss the top of her head like he had when she was a little girl, but his body betrayed him.

"You can't move father. If you could, you'd have come to me by now," Farah didn't turn back to him. She took another step away.

"Farah,"

"Comfort me father, please," she wrapped her arms around her body, hunched forwards slightly as she remained cold and alone. "I'm so cold,"

Dastan was as speechless as the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. Her tan back shivered, even in the warmth of the Alamutian dusk and her long heavy sobs racked her body. He couldn't move to go to her, and he didn't know any words that would comfort her. What could he possibly say that would make her feel better? Unless...

"Farah, I'm returning to Persia. As soon as I'm up and around again, I'm going to Avrat, to Tus' palace. I'd like you to join me," She whirled around, at his bedside again in seconds, smiling blissfully.

"We're really leaving? We're never coming back?" he nearly winced at the joy and hope in her voice. He nodded, swallowing thickly.

"No, we never have to come back. I'll take you away from here."

"Thank you!" She threw her arms around him and kissed his weathered cheek. "Thank you so much, thank you," Drawing away, she dabbed at her eyes and sniffed. Dastan could see the wheels turning in her head.

"What are you thinking now?"

"Well, we'll need to tell mother for a start. She'll protest, but she won't be able to stop us." She said excitedly. "We'll climb out the windows and escape, scale the walls and be off into the desert in no time!" She tapped her chin, considering.

"We'll need to send word to my brothers," Dastan encouraged.

"Yes! We'll do that. Should we send Bis? No, he'd hate to get there before us and have to wait, we'll have to have him waiting for us by the gates when we leave." She shook her head. "You have the worst timing. There's so much to organise, so much to do before we can go. You concentrate on getting better, I'll make the preparations." She clasped her hands together and Dastan managed to lift his arm and place a hand over hers.

"If there's so much to do, why are you still sat here?" he said playfully. She smiled brightly.

"Yes, of course." She stood up, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and drawing her shoulders back regally. "I'm glad that you're doing this father." The sincerity in her voice shocked Dastan.

"You are?"

"If a gift were given to you by an enemy, would you trust it?" she replied. "Mother tries very hard, and because she sees herself in me so clearly it doesn't really show, but sometimes I'll say something she doesn't agree with, or do something she doesn't like and she'll get this look on her face, like I'm someone she forgot to be suspicious of; a tool she can't completely trust."

"Tamina- Your mother puts herself under a lot of pressure. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding,"

"Don't you dare try and stand up for her!" Farah interrupted. "Don't you dare. No matter what she's said to you or how hard she's been on you, you've never once looked at me like that. I look exactly like her, it would be easy for you to take everything out on me, but you don't. You've never looked at me as anyone but your daughter," she took a slow breath. "I love you father, and I'm getting out of this place with you."

She left the chamber and Dastan let his head roll until it faced away from the door.

He wasn't sure what to think of Farah's words. She was still very young and very prone to passion, like he had been; but he didn't think she'd invent a story about her mother just to make him go along with an idea. His chest started to ache again. The more he heard from Bis and Farah, the more he was certain that the woman he'd loved and lost had been destroyed the moment he'd let go of her hand.

There was one thing of which he was absolutely certain.

His body was failing. He would never see the lofty domes of Nasaf or the tall spires of Avrat. He would never see his brothers again.

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**Right, now I'm in a bit of a quandary. I've got two endings to this, and I'm not sure which one you guys would like more. If you do decide to review, which I hope you do, please say whether you'd prefer a happy ending or a tragic ending. The Choice is yours!**

**Macs**


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